Mobile phones

When I returned home from my travels, the last thing I felt comfortable with was spending money on “stuff.” After 9 months of traveling carrying only the items in a big backpack I got accustomed to living very simply.

I had set up with the intention of using technology less = no cell phone- but quickly learned cell phones would prove a crucial connection to my local environment as well as my friends and family far away. I didn’t foresee cell phones (mobile phones) being everywhere in Africa, though that was shortsightedness on my part. Land line phones never took off in Africa though you could find tables or small little rooms with land line access in the middle of a village or town, where folks could pay per land line call to the individual who owned the phone. The equivalent of pay phones, (which are hard to come by these days) yet they’re not permanent structures.

Mobile phones are another story. Everyone has one. Owning the newest phone is a status symbol. In the States, its the same story. Yet I was surprised, young African women and men may not have much and yet clothes, shoes and phones were something of great pride. A way to symbolize what they have or what they have access to.

When I gave in and bought a phone my second week in Tanzania, I went for the least expensive. All I needed was a phone to make and receive calls and sent text messages. Mine was such an old model, it didn’t even have an alarm clock. Oops. Locals laughed at me. “that phone is from 6 years ago.” An alarm clock seems trivial but I figured it necessary so I returned the phone and got a slight upgrade. Locals didn’t understand why I wasn’t buying the nicest or the best phone. “you do have money,” they asked but they couldn’t quite understand my decision.

In a culture of symbolism, I didn’t fit the bill.
I used a basic blue siemens phone for 9 months… no bells and whistles but it did the job.

I had a nice pink flip cell phone before I left but realized when I returned it was practically obsolete on my return because it was a Sprint phone and therefore didn’t have a removal SIM card. I refused to be on another contract with a phone company and despised the idea of purchasing another phone that could only be used with a specific carrier.

It’s no surprise then, when I refused to buy a new phone and asked friends if they had an old phone lying around. sure enough, someone had one.

It was an old Nokia similar to one I had 4 or 5 years ago and yet I get compliments all the time saying, “thats one of the best phones I had.” Occassionally I’d feel slightly funny about such a beat up phone but it does the job until today… a few too many drops causes a phone to stop turning on.

I found another old Nokia but I’m kinda feeling ready for something new. A year being home spending money feels a little easier to do.

hmmm

“It’s easier for a Coca Cola bottle to travel the world than a human being.”

–Musician playing at Stern grove concert series in San Francisco, July 19, 2009.

How true this is. No passports needed. Skin color, culture, sex, religion and so on doesn’t matter.

Where does the travel bug come from?

Lately, the travel bug has been making me itch. Itching for a place to venture off to. NOW.

Time is not on my side, at least right now. I work work work, 6 days a week. Finding more than a day off in my schedule seems a distant dream. I’d be content with 2 days away. Who’d have thought. Short term getaays will suffice. For Now. Yet I wonder, do I long to go somewhere because I know I can’t get away?

Before I landed my jobs, I had plenty of time but I had no desire to go anywhere. I was still recouping and re-energizing myself from my long term travels.

Everything changed, after working constantly for 3 months. I had an opportunity to flee to the coast for a day and half and I seized it. And this is when the travel bug bit me.

Now, I think about ocean breezes, redwood trees, and laying in a hammock reading a book.

Why do some people have the travel bug and others don’t? Where did I get it from? Why doesn’t my mom or brother have wanderlust?

My curiosity about the world and adventure began as a young child and was nurtured by day trips and as a young adult, fresh out of high school, venturing off to England to study abroad.

It seems a blessing and a curse to have the travel bug-

The desire to see the world and experience the open road full of possibilities yet missing friends and family back home. Always meeting new people and charting new territory and dealing with change constantly yet fully living in the moment, aware of my surroundings.

People who can’t grasp the vagabond spirit simply think travelers are on vacation, or are lazy or just escaping from life. They simply don’t understand.

Traveling has it’s hardships and challenges but I will repeatedly take the open unknown road vs. a life of monotony and consistency. I like change. Travel shows me what I’m capable of, forces me to push myself, to try new things, to respond when I prefer to hide in the corner.

I wouldn’t trade in my journey for anything. It’s allowed me to further become who I am, what I stand for and how I think about the world.

One of the harshest parts about travel is transitioning back to being home. Adapting and adjusting to another culture and ways of understanding the world can be a challenge but even more difficult is transitioning back to one’s own culture and ways of living, especially after being away for so long.

Are travelers sadistic? Do we like the pain and the hardship that travel brings?

Adjusting, Adapting, Transitioning- Repeat. On end. The travel bug doesn’t go away. There is no Cure- just ample travel to keep the itch at bay.

Travel bug is biting

A year has passed. Somehow.

My transition period was challenging yet while I was in the dark forest I couldn’t see my way out until one day, there was light. Every day Africa flashes through my mind. A song, a comment, a photo, a film, a book or a butterfly can trigger emotions, thoughts and memories that have tucked themselves carefully into the nooks of my memory.

A month ago, I found a 1.5 day off in my busy work schedule. I took off with a friend for a spontaneous exploration along the California coast. We picked strawberries, cooked all our meals at the beautiful Pigeon Point Hostel, talked with travelers and reveled in the freedom to do what ever we pleased.

The travel bug bit me while I was there. I hadn’t had much desire to getaway for all the months I’ve been home as I balance my life of work, social life and some time for myself. All while I prepare and save for the next adventure in my life: Moving Out!

Since my little getaway, I’m pondering my next short trip, trying to fit it when I won’t be working. Hawaii beckons. Spain calls softly. ‘

While staying up way too late talking with a good friend about life and wanting to travel (I feel like I’ve known her forever but its barely been a year) she stopped me mid-sentence and said, “I’m so happy for you. I can remember when I met you, you couldn’t imagine traveling again. You were so burnt out.” She’s right. When I met her, I couldn’t imagine being on the road again but I hoped my feelings would eventually change. Not having a desire to travel scared me. I wondered, “Could the travel bug be out of my system for good?” Time passed and opporutunities to travel came and went but I had no inkling to go.

Just as I predicted, now that I’m working and staying overly busy, traveling is on my mind. I just have to get creative with my schedule and my plans. Anything is possible. You just have to make it happen.

For the moment, it appears only short trips await me.

Surprise in the mail

A few days ago 2 packages arrived unexpectedly in the mail. Same day but at different times. The first package was from Avalon Publishing with a Rick Steve’s Best of Europe 2009 guidebook and journal. No note inside. I realized I had won a contest I had entered a week before. Interesting thing was, the day before a good friend of mine and I were pondering places we could go for a short time-10 days (yes, I know by American standards this sounds like a long time, but by my vagabonding habit 10 days is a short time). We liked the idea of Spain and a surprise European guidebook seemed to be a sign we should act on our thoughts.

The second package, I found after taking a long nap, was wrapped in plastic and had burn marks on one side. Seems someone lit it on fire or it caught fire somehow. I’ll never know.The package was from my mom sent a year ago, June 2008 while I was in Livingston, Zambia. My mom assumed I was going to be there awhile, though I told everyone Livingston would only be a short stop. My mom had sent a box of Godiva chocolates and Happy Feet stickers. All the chocolates were gone and surpringly they hadn’t melted all over the envelope. They were simply gone. Glad someone was able to eat them. From the stamp on the package, the envelope arrived at the post office in Livingstone June 24, 2008, the very day I left Livingstone to board a flight to Joburg, South Africa.

A year later, it follows me home. Impressive. After a full year at home.
the package symbolizing my time on the road, and a year now back home. A package never received on the road, opened at home. My time in Africa following me home.

A package sent across the world and comes back to me a year later, almost intact. Honest people are living in this world, regardless of social or economic status or a developing country.

My mom sent another gift of goodies with make up and such after the box of chocolates. I wonder if it will find me at home too.

Home for a year!

A year ago, today, I boarded a South African airways flight from Joburg (as the locals say) , South Africa to New York. I remember the day as if it were yesterday. Vividly.
It was a beautiful sunny day and I was filled with mixed emotions. I was ready to come home- to see my family, my own room again and as much Mexican food as I wanted but I was sad to leave a continent that ha seeped into my veins, into my blood.

I spent my last day getting last minute souvenirs for myself and friends. I got a ride from my couchsurfer’s roommate to downtown Melville, a hip area of Joburg. I throw on jeans and my cozy red Splashy Fen sweatshirt, which I bought a month before at the music festival. I decided against a purse and put my money in my, phone and camera in my pocket. The power was out (a all too common occurrence in South Africa) but many shops were still open. Locals had become used to the power issues that plauged (s) the country. I enjoyed browsing the bookshops for last minute South African novels and then browsed curios sold on the street. There weren’t as many people selling as I’d hope but I made do.
The day passed quickly and before I knew it, I was walking back to the apartment to gather my pack for a ride to the airport. I even remember my driver, a big guy from French Congo, who had lived a few years in England, had met a woman, had a child and was now living in South Africa, where the economy was better with more opportunity.

I spent a while in the airport. Chatted with a few people. Browsed the souvenir shops. The airport felt like I could be anywhere. I stood in line to board my flight and I struck up conversation with a Sengalese man ( we did have a stop over in Senegal). He was happy to learn of my 9 months in Africa experiencing cultures, food, the wonderful people. No surprise, he found some paper and a pen and wrote his email for me. I chuckled to myself (typical) and thanked him as I wished him a good flight.

I waited for the tears to flow. The plane took off and I stared out the window. Tears dripped down my face. So many emotions and yet uncertain how I felt. I knew then as I do now, I’ll return. I just don’t know when. Africa will be a place I continue to go back to, once you step on African soil, there is no going back. It’s now in my blood!

It’s hard to imagine a year has passed. It feels like yesterday. Thankfully for memories, it can be just like yesterday.

Yet it’s a reminder to enjoy what you’re doing today because time passes by all too quickly.

Enjoy each day. Live life how you envision. Change what isn’t working. Acknowledge what your grateful for. Go with your flow. See where you go.

An orange for the day

While enjoying the sunshine talking with friends in a quaint neighborhood in Oakland, a woman approached us and asked, “Can you help me get some hot food?” I replied, “I can give you an orange.” Assuming if she’s really hungry, almost any food would suffice. Instead, she retorted, “Is it hot?” I’m sure my mouth was wide open, shocked at her audacity to come over and ask strangers to help her get hot food and have attitude when offered fruit.

Why is she entitled to other people’s money to buy food at one of the cafe’s?

I forget mental illness likely plays a role.

She wandered away after my offer and chatted with a distinguished man who was sitting on a bench nearby. I watched her wander around asking strangers to help her get food as she munched on jellybeans and randomly talked to passerbyers and to no one in particular about chicken tacos, pollo, pollo tacos as if speaking in Spanish may trigger a different response. She had a newspaper in one hand and a tote back on her right shoulder. With each person, whom she talked to she marked something down as if tallying each person she asked.

This woman distracted me. Friends and I were talking about an array of deep topics including, foreign aid and micro-finance lending in developing countries. We were getting ready to leave and she came over and said bluntly, “Don’t forget about my orange!” “I thought you didn’t want it, you walked away,” I said. “I was talking with my friend Jose.” I handed her the orange. “Thank you, this is the first thing I’ve eaten today (it was 3pm) aside from the jellybeans.” “You very welcome and off I went to cross the street. As I waited for the green light, she said “Thank you” a few more times and I honored her thanks. It was nice to hear words of gratitude yet was reminded why I always hesitate with handing out money but I’ll always part with food if I have it.

While staying in Cape Town, South Africa, both in 2005 and in 2007, I witnessed story telling begging frequently. I rarely saw a person with a sign asking for money but rather a sad story of why they needed some money. One benefit of staying in a place for a while (rather than passing through) is you see daily interactions, shops opening and closing, how morning fades into night and who are the regulars on the street. I lived a block away from Long St and later stayed at a hostel on Long St itself, which is the busiest and most touristy of streets in Cape Town. I had children ask me for money and an anxious young woman ask me for 50 cents for the bus, though we weren’t near a bus stop. My heart went out to her because the anxiousness in her voice made me think how I might be in her shoes. Yet I said, “Sorry” and continued on to the store. I questioned myself, hoping I’d never have to ask a complete stranger for money and hoping, if I did, someone would willingly give. A day later, I saw the same woman with the same turquoise tote, on a different street pushing past people telling the same story, “I need 50 cents to catch the bus.” A few days later, she asked me the same question as I walked by, though I ignored her. She still had an anxiousness about her and I can only imagine the bus money is really code for drugs. Obviously, this is her trademark story and it works most of the time, especially in a frequented tourist city. There’s a reason she wanders the streets almost daily asking for the same thing. Locals learn quickly whose who. As a traveler staying in a place for a while, I quickly learn too.

We always get to choose how we want to respond to people asking for money and I’ve learned you can never really know where the money is going. Maybe it doesn’t matter, yet the the bigger issue becomes, by giving money are we helping individuals stay on the street?

Certainly, this is a bigger equation with multiple variables…

She’s not the only person I encountered who was lying for money. Each time my heart momentarily placed myself in their shoes but I stopped myself from giving.

Now, I’ve taken what I’ve experienced abroad and apply it here. If you’re hungry and ask for my leftovers I’m carrying, I’ll gladly give them away or if I have food to spare, I’ll share. This is how I know if someone is telling the truth. If you’re hungry, you’re not picky!

Living simply yet occasionally wanting something new

A benefit of being on the road for a long time is living simply with minimal items, including clothing. Yet after such a long wearing the same few items with a few variations, I was excited to return to a dresser and closet filled with clothing.  There was no need to buy clothing because I had more clothing than I knew what to do with. I gravitated towards a handful of shirts and seemed to wear them often, just as I had other shirts while on the road. Habit and comfort.  However, I’ve been feeling a want for something new. I’ve swapped clothing with friends and mixed and matched items in my closet for new creations but I’m left wanting something more yet I feel a swash of guilt.

I saw men and women in Africa take great pride in their clothing. Always clean and hand scrubbed. Some shirts were so well worn to the point of making them holey and they continued to wear their shirts with mini holes because I can only assume, they didn’t have much else nor money to buy a used shirt at the market.

How can I want more when I have a slew of clothing in my drawer (even if it’s from a few years ago)? I feel guilty yet I know I live in a different country, virtually a different world. How do I seperate myself without fully ignoring what I’ve witnessed and experienced. What I always come around too is not buying new clothing does not mean the poverty stricken man in half way across the world is now clothed. It’s more the issue, I feel I should be content with all I had yet sometimes I want something new and I wish I didn’t. Should’t I feel content? Not want things?

It helps talking with friends who can relate as they’ve experienced similar feelings themselves. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

It’s nice to have new items every now and again. I need to let go and enjoy. I’ve just become more conscientious. I find it difficult to wrap my mind around a $32 t-shirt because I do the math and think how many t-shirts that can be at another store… but then again, it’s not always about quantity.

Oh boy. The dilemmas travels can bring.

One step at a time

I’m surprised when I think about how I was traveling in Cape town, South Africa a year ago. Reaching Cape town in May 2008 represented the finish line of my dream-  traveling local transport from East Africa to the bottom of South Africa- one end of the continent!   Yet, March- May I contemplated endlessly over my plans and what came next of my adventure. Should I extend my visa by paying the $50 fee at Home Land Affairs or cross the border for a few days? What about working? And meeting people? If I’m going to give a chance of staying in South Africa, I surely want to meet people and create a home base away from home, a community.  Thoughts raced through my mind over and over. I can recall processing 10 steps ahead while on a gorgeous but strenuous 5 day hike. In the end, all my questioning and wondering seemed pointless because I never made it to step 2 before I changed course. I hung around Cape town, meet some locals but I realized I was burnt out and staying in a gorgeous country when my heart really needed to be home means I must go home. And home I went (after another month of exploring).   Life has it’s ways. I learned the long way: over- thinking doesn’t make a decision easier, it just makes me more confused and a bit mental.  A lesson for life, a lesson on the road.

On the road, I was always planning and deciding what came next out of habit and necessity. No one else was going to make decisions for me.  I like having a general plan. I surprised  myself while talking with my mom about my new jobs. When she asked, what’s my long term plan for work and where I see myself in a few years? I replied, ” I haven’t thought that far.”  I wondered if I should know, have  better response; a pla. But I felt calm and happy. For the first time in a while, I haven’t thought 10 steps ahead. I’m just going with what I’m doing and enjoying the moment.

Lucky me, I have the opportunity to do exactly what I want. I’m allowing life to lead me and it’s a satisfying feeling. I haven’t gotten ahead of myself and right now, I wouldn’t wish it any other way.

My journey in Africa inspired thoughts and realizations, which lead me to my work now and I know my current work will lead me further on my path of what I’m meant to do. Trusting and letting go. A difficult task yet powerful!
I didn’t make the connection of how my attitude of planning has c hanged until I talked with a friend on Skype (whom I met in Africa) who is teaching English in South Korea. She’s struggling with the variations of living in another culture with the added questions of: “What do I want to do with my life” and “what do I pursue when I return” equation.  I can relate, I asked, struggled and fought the same questions while on the road. Traveling brings a level of uncertainty, awareness and realizations and it’s easy to get ahead of yourself and try to figure out what comes next when the travel or living abroad ends.  I know I thought way too much about what came next and sometimes wasn’t allowing myself to be in the moment. Silly, really. In hindsight, I realize everything I experienced on the road has lead me to where I am now in my life.

I’m not worrying or thinking too much about something I can’t control. Occasionally, I think ahead but I remind myself everything will work out and money will be aplenty. Maybe, I’m not thinking 10 steps ahead because I’m so consumed with my new jobs or maybe I finally learned the valuable lesson to let things go and see what happens.

//

Appreciating daily interactions

When people hear I traveled for 9 months, naturally, many our intrigued. Then, they typically ask, “What did you do? What were you doing”

They wonder, “Were you volunteering, working or interning?

“No, I was traveling,” I respond.

Curiosity beckons and they inquire, “How did you fill your time?”

I’m always slightly thrown off as memories flood in of various days and experiences I had throughout my journey. Sure, in the beginning I stayed in a small, Westernized town of Moshi, for 6+ weeks as I enjoyed having a “home” base as I pondered my next step. While in Moshi, I often spent  my days talking, writing emails at the internet cafe, hand washing my clothing and enjoying the simplicity of daily activity. While staying in Moshi at the Kilimanjaro Backpackers travelers were surprised to hear I was staying for more than a few days and didn’t possess an itineary.

I did have the luxury of time on my side but ultimately the questioning and curiosity shows how focused Westerners are in the need to always define and establish a purpose for everything we do. My intention to go to Africa to experience and witness other countries with my own eyes was exactly what I did. Yet this isn’t readily understood or necessarily accepted.

I wasn’t being paid nor getting university credit . Nor was I setting out to document a film, write a book or intern with an organization. I simply wanted to further my understanding and enrich my experience. My journey doesn’t fit a proscribed label.

Some days I was relaxing on the beach and reading a book or talking to locals, travelers, or volunteers; while other days I was in transit squashed with Africans en route to a new destination with bags heaped on our laps. Regardless of where I was or what I was doing (or not doing), everyday I  was: participating, engaging, observing, talking, learning, experiencing, formulating new ideas and theories, gaining understanding, learning history, politics, cultural differences and traditions, and daily life and interaction.

Living. Living in the moment.

I was full of awareness and new ideas. I may not have been filling my time with activities or touristy things but some of my best days were ones where I spent my afternoon talking at the backpackers with other guests and employees (who felt like my sisters and brothers) and being surprised how morning easily drifted into mid afternoon. Walking down the street and engaging in conversation with the woman selling  mangoes or talking with the Muslim man who owned a little restaurant selling the best samosas I’ve ever tasted and fresh squeezed passion fruit juice. I enjoyed my daily visits to his shop and sharing his place with other travelers who thought from appearances, the food would be too expensive, even though it was a place frequented by locals. Stepping into the food prep area because I was intrigued how the women made delicious passion fruit juice daily- slicing, squeezing, screening, removing pulp- not the easiest task but yet they did it effortlessly. A sip of juice and I instantly had a smile on my face.

It’s the little things. Daily life. Conversations and interactions are my fondest memories of my travels and in my life,  no matter where I am. I notice now that I’m home, societal pressures and obligations, can make me feel conflicted with the idea I “should” always be doing “something.” I went against this very notion on my travels and I strive to incorporate this into my life now. Why is it that a conversation in a hostel for several hours is part of the expereince of being on the road but if I talk with someone who lives in Tanzania through instant messenger on the comforts of my couch in the middle of the day, somehow I feel guilty?  As if I need to be “doing something”  more productive or producing money or other goods, when I feel good and satisfied having a great conversation.

Value. What’s important to you? What do you value?

Now I simply need to honor my values and the society in which I live and go forth. Create the to-do list, if I must but not abide by it. Allow spontaneity and opportunities to come into my life and not worry about what hasn’t been done or needs to get done. Hakuna Matata, as they say in Kiswahili, Don’t worry.  One day at a time. pole pole, Slowly, slowly. Pure wisdom.